A story is there, for all to see. Rings of life, rings on a tree. How old are you? What have you seen? Do you miss the busy birds Mr. Tree? Your branches and leaves, all are now gone! And, really, do you like to be sat upon? I’d much rather stand, so tall and firm. A squirrel on my bark, and at my roots a few ferns. The forest is home, it’s really where I should be. So ask your questions, your questions of me, but do not think less or any more of me. Here I am now and here I’ll stay. A beach is my home, my view is the bay.